Crap, I must have gone out the wrong door.
I turn to retrace my steps through the cattery and back to the door that lets me leave, but the handle on the door I just came out of doesn’t budge. After trying it a few more times, I curse my luck. It’s locked. I scan my surroundings, looking for another exit, and wince at the high-pitched desperate barks of the animals all around me.
Pulling my shirt up over my nose in hopes it will block out the smell of wet dog and anxiety that’s permeating this place, I start to make my way down the line of kennels in search of a way out of here.
Dogs yap and yowl at me as I pass, and I pick up my pace, the smell and noise becoming more and more overwhelming. A set of double doors that look like they lead to salvation come into view just as I pass a particularly loud kennel. Tingles erupt all throughout my body. I feel like I just stuck my finger in a light socket. I’d bet if I saw my reflection right now, my curls would be standing on end from the electric charge humming through me.
Dammit.
I squeeze my eyes closed, rub at my tingling arms, and throw my head back. “A dog?” I demand. I mean, of course it’s a dog. They’re needy and stinky and super demanding of things like time and affection. I needed something more independent and loner-ish. Something that wouldn’t judge me for not knowing how to take care of it. I was willing to settle for a cat, but really I need a hedgehog or a snake, definitely not some pesky pooch. My apartment doesn’t even allow dogs.
I remind myself that it could be a ferret and try to rein in my irritation. The tingling sensation working through my body gets stronger, and I shake my head in denial and exasperation as I open my eyes. Tad said that the tingles would happen if I’m compatible with a familiar, not that I had to take one just because I went all static cling over an animal. I take a deep breath at that thought and try to get a better look at what I’m dealing with. I peek hesitantly into the kennel I’m standing in front of, which is when a fucking dire wolf straight out of the pages of an epic fantasy novel chooses to attack from the dark corner of its kennel. The door to its cage rattles ominously as it snarls at me and looks me dead in the eye with a clear message of I will rip you to shreds and devour you piece by motherfucking piece, bitch.
It charges the cage again, and I stumble back in fear and slam into another kennel behind me. No fucking way am I taking that monster home. The bones can’t be serious.
“Ha ha, ancestors, you’ve had your fun!” I shout, completely unnerved.
The declaration comes echoing back to me, mockingly, as it bounces off the cement walls of the large room and dances all around me like some playground taunt. I scan my surroundings to make sure no one else is in here witnessing my crazy as it unfurls like a flag in the wind. And that’s when I hear a snort coming from the kennel I’m currently pressed up against in my efforts to get as far away as I can from the demon dog across from me. Snarls ricochet off my back as I turn to see what’s responsible for the disgruntled pig noises.
My eyes widen with surprise when I find a pair of moon-dust gray eyes looking up at me. It’s a dog, but not a breed I’ve ever seen before. He looks like some kind of pug, bulldog, collie mix with his long hair, perky battish ears, and squished face. His soot-gray coat sticks out all over the place and looks how I just felt, all charged and staticky. He lies there, his moonlight-toned eyes staring at me like he can’t be bothered to bark or get excited.
The prickling I was feeling before gets even more intense, once again lapping through my body and making me feel charged and fuzzy. I’m both relieved and anxious at the same time. Yay for the Game of Thrones beast not being the one to set off my spidey senses, but it’s still a dog that’s giving me the familiar feels.
A clang sounds around me, and I jump, startled from the loud noise. I spin around, hoping that wasn’t just the sound of the rabid fucker’s lock breaking on its door behind me.
“What are you doing back here?” a shrill voice demands, and a reedy woman stomps her way over to me.
I throw my hands up like I’m under arrest and take a step back. “I was in the cat area and went through a door that led me here. I tried to get back, but I was locked in here,” I explain defensively.
She shakes her head. “Sorry about that. I thought we got that door fixed. If you’re looking for a dog, these are not the ones you want. They’re all unadoptable. Follow me, I’ll show you where the available dogs are.” She moves to walk away, and I hesitate to follow her.
I don’t want a dog, but I also don’t want to be looking around for days or risk that my ancestors might throw something worse my way. As much as I hate it, I also can’t help feeling a little bad for the pet reject. I look down at the gray four-legged Ewok, my senses confirming that he’s the one, and sigh.
“Wait. I want to take this guy,” I announce to her back, rolling my eyes at my luck.
I look for a name tag or something on the little gray dog’s kennel and spot the name, Hoot. The woman turns, her gaze following my pointed arm to Hoot’s cage, her brows furrowed with concern.
“I know he’s cute, but he won’t play or interact much with you. He seems to only be interested in sleeping and rubbing himself on things. He’s been adopted and brought back multiple times,” she warns, clearly assuming all of that information will have me rethinking my decision.
What she doesn’t know is that his laziness and lack of interest in being a pet isn’t a deterrent for me, it’s a selling point.
“I’m cool with that,” I chipperly admit. “I’m not into all that dog crap anyway,” I confess, which just makes her eye me warily.
She looks at the squat, flat-faced dog sympathetically and then back to me. With a shrug, she walks back to where I’m standing in front of the little dog’s kennel. “There’s a lot of paperwork to fill out. If you qualify for adoption, then I’m fine with you trying your luck with him. He’s going to be put down in a couple days anyway, maybe this is the last chance he deserves.”
A hopeful smile sneaks across my face, and Hoot gives an indecipherable snort. Looks like I just found my familiar.
“Hear that ancestors? Step two is in the bag,” I announce happily, hoping that they appreciate how quickly and obediently step two went.
“What’s that?” the shelter worker asks, a hint of concern in her tone.
“Oh, nothing,” I reassure her with a chuckle that I hope makes me look friendly and normal and not unhinged. Judging by the look she gives me before she continues on, I’m not completely successful. I brush the judgment off and internally high-five myself. Step three, here I come.
3
I watch Hoot out of the corner of my eye. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, his head resting on the doorframe as though it’s just too heavy to hold up. The window is down, and the wind is making his jowls flop around in a way that would be cute if I liked dogs. I’m worried he’s going to make a break for it out the car window, but so far he seems chill and pretty content to sloth along wherever I want to take him.
We’ve been bound to each other for about twenty-four hours now, and it’s going about as well as I could hope. He wasn’t fazed in the slightest by the incantation or power that swept over both of us when I linked him to me. In fact, I’m pretty sure he snored through most of it. I did discover, mid-shower this morning, that he has a weird penchant for wanting to rub himself all over my dirty underwear, but I suppose we all have our kinks.